The Spanish Tragedie/Act 1

by Thomas Kyd

ACTVS PRIMVS.

Enter the Ghost of Andrea, and with him Reuenge.

Ghost.

When this eternall substance of my soule,
⁠Did liue imprisond in my wanton flesh,
⁠Ech in their function seruing others neede,
⁠I was a Courtier in the Spanish Court:
⁠My name was Don Andrea, my discent
⁠Though not ignoble, yet inferiour farre
⁠To gratious fortunes of my tender youth;
⁠For there in prime and pride of all my yeeres,
⁠By duetious seruice, and deseruing loue,
⁠In secret I possest a worthy Dame,
⁠Which hight sweete Bel-imperia by name:
⁠But in the haruest of my sommer ioyes,
⁠Deaths winter nipt the blossomes of my blisse,
⁠Forceing diuorce betwixt my loue and me;
⁠For in the late conflict with Portingale,
⁠My valour drew me into dangers mouth,
⁠Till life to death made passage through my woundest
⁠When I was slaine, my soule descended straight
⁠To passe the flowing streame of Archeron;
⁠But churlish Charon, onely Boat-man there,
⁠Sayd, that my rites of buriall not performde,
⁠I might not sit amongst his passengers:
⁠Ere Sol had slept three nightes in Thetis lap,
⁠And slakt his smoaking Chariot in her floud,
⁠By Don Horatio our Knight-Marshals sonne,
⁠My Funerals and obsequies were done:
⁠Then was the Ferri-man of Hell content,
⁠ To passe me ouer to the slimie strond,
⁠That leades to fell Auernus ougly waues:
⁠There pleasing Cerberus with hoined speech,
⁠I past the perils of the formost porch,
⁠Not farre from hence amidst ten thousand soule;
⁠Sate Minos, Eacus and Rhadamant:
⁠To whom no sooner gan I make approach,
⁠To craue a pasport for my wandring Ghost,
⁠But Minos in grauen leaues of Lotterie,
⁠Drew forth the manner of my lyfe and death.
⁠This Knight (quoth he) both liu'd and dyed in loue,
⁠And for his loue tryed fortune of the Warres,
⁠And by Warres fortune, lost both loue and life.
⁠Why then sayd Eacus, conuey him hence,
⁠To walke with Louers in our fieldes of loue,
⁠And spend the course of euerlasting time,
⁠Vnder greene Mirtle trees and Cypers shades.
⁠No, no, sayd Rhadamant, it were not well,
⁠With louing soules, to place a Martialist;
⁠He died in warre, and must to Martiall fieldes:
⁠Where wounded Hector liues in lasting paine,
⁠And Achilles mermedons do scoure the plaine.
⁠Then Minos mildest censor of the three,
⁠Made this deuice to end the difference.
⁠Send him (quoth he) to our infernall King:
⁠To doome him as best seemes his Maiestie:
⁠To this effect my pasport straight was drawne,
⁠In keeping on my way to Plutos Court,
⁠Through dreadfull shades of euer glooming night:
⁠I saw more sights then thousand tongues can tell,
⁠Or pennes can write, or mortall hartes can thinke.
⁠Three wayes there were, that on the right hand side,
⁠Was ready way vnto the foresaid fieldes,
⁠Where Louers liue, and bloudie Martialistes:
⁠But either sort containd within his boundes,
⁠The left hand path declining fearfullie,
⁠Was readie downefall to the deepest hell,
⁠ Where bloodie furies shakes their whippes of steele,
⁠And poore Ixion turnes an endles wheele:
⁠Where Vzurers are choakt with melting gold,
⁠And Wantons are imbraste with ouglie Snakes,
⁠And Murderers greeue with euerkilling woundes,
⁠And Periured wightes scalded in boyling lead,
⁠And all foule sinnes with tormentes ouerwhelmd,
⁠Twixt these two wayes, I trode the middle path,
⁠Which brought me to the faire Elizian greene:
⁠In midsdst whereof, there standes a stately Towre,
⁠The Walles of Brasse, the Gates of Adamant:
⁠Heere finding Pluto with his Proserpine,
⁠I shewed my Pasport humbled on my knee:
⁠Whereat faire Proserpine began to smile,
⁠And begd that onely she might giue my doome.
⁠Pluto was pleasd, and sealde it with a kisse.
⁠Foorthwith Reuenge she rounded thee in th'eare,
⁠And bade thee lead me though the gates of Horror:
⁠Where dreames haue passage in the silent night.
⁠No sooner had she spoke, but we were heere,
⁠I wot not how, in the twinckling of an eye.

Reuenge.
Then know Andrea that thou ariued,
⁠Where thou shalt see the author of thy death:
⁠Don Balthazar the Prince of Portingale,
⁠Depriu'd of life by Bel-imperia:
⁠Heere sit we downe to see the misterie,
⁠And serue for Chorus in this Tragedie.

Enter Spanish King, Generall, Castille, Hieronimo.

King.
Now say, Lord Generall, how fares our Campe?

Gen. All wel my soueraigne Liege, except some few,
⁠That are deceast by fortune of the Warre.

King. But what portendes thy cheeerefull countenance,
⁠And posting to our presence this in haste?
⁠Speake man? hath fortune giuen vs victorie?

Gen. Victorie, my Liege, and that with little losse.

King. Our Portingales will pay vs tribute then.

Gen. Tribute, and wonted homage there withall.

King. Then blest be heauen, and guider of the heauens,
From whose faire influence such iustice flowes!

Cast. O multum dilecte Deo, tibi militat æther,
Et coniuratæ curuato poplite gentes
Succumbunt: recti soror est victoria iuris.

King. Thanks to my loving brother of Castile:
But Generall, vnfolde in briefe discourse
Your forme of Battell, and your Warres successe,
That adding all the pleasure of thy newes
Vnto the height of former happinesse,
With deeper wage and gentile dignitie,
We may reward thy blisfull chiualrie.

Gen. Where Spaine and Portingale do ioyntly knit
Their frontires, leaning on each others bound:
There met our Armies in their proud aray:
Both furnisht well, both full of hope and feare!
Both menacing a like with daring showes,
Both vaunting sundrie colours of deuice,
Both cheerely sounding trumpets, drummes, and fifes:
Both raysing dreadfull clamors to the skie,
That vallies, hilles, and riuers made rebound,
And heauen it selfe was frighted with the sound.
Our Battels both were pitcht in squadron forme,
Each corner strongly fenst with winges of shot:
But ere we ioyned and came to push of Pike,
I brought a squadron of our readiest shot
From out our reareward, to begin the fight,
They brought an other wing to encounter vs:
Meane while, our Ordinance played on either side,
And Captaines stroue to haue their valours tride,
Don Pedro, their chiefe Horsemens Coronell
Did with his Coronet brauely make attempt,
To breake the order of our Battell-rankes;
But Don Rogero, worthy man of warre,
Marcht foorth against him with our Musketiers,
And stopt the malice of his fell approch:
While they maintaine hot skirmish too and fro,
Both Battailes ioyne and fall to handie blowes;
Their violent Shot resembling th' Oceans rage,
When, roaring loude, and with a swelling tyde,
It beates vpon the rampiers of huge Rockes,
And gapes to swallow neighbour bounding landes:
Now while Bellona rageth heere and there,
Thicke stormes of Bullets ran like Winters hayle,
And shiuered Launces, darkt the troubled ayre.
Pede pes & cuspide cuspis,
Auni sonant annis, vir petiturque viro.
On euery side drop Captaines to the ground,
And Souldiers lie maimde, some slaine outright:
Heere falles a body sundered from his head,
There legges and armes lie bleeding on the grasse,
Mingled with weapons and vnbowed steedes,
That scattering, ouer spread the purple plaine.
In all this turmoyle three long houres and more,
The victorie to neither part inclinde,
Till Don Andrea with his braue Launciers,
In their maine Battell made so great a breach,
That halfe dismayde, the multitude retirde:
But Balthazar the Portingales young Prince,
Brought rescue, and encouragde them to stay.
Heere-hence the fight was eagerly renewd,
And in that conflict was Andrea slaine,
Braue man at armes, but weake to Balthazar,
Yet while the Prince, insulting ouer him,
Breath'd out proud vauntes, sounding to our reproch,
Friendship and hardie valour ioyned in one,
Prickt foorth Horatio, our Knight-marshals sonne,
To challenge foorth that Prince to single fight:
Not long betweene these twaine the fight indurde,
But straight the Prince was beaten from his Horse,
And forcst to yeeld him prisoner to his foe.
When he was taken, all the rest fled,
And our Carbines pursued them to death,
Till, Phœbus wauing to the westerne deepe,
Our Trumpeters were chargde to sound retreate.

King. Thanks, good L Generall, for these good newes,
And for some argument of more to come,
Take this and weare it for thy Soueraignes sake.
Giues him his Chaine. 
But tell me now, Hast thou confirmde a peace?

Gen. No peace my Liege, but peace condicionall,
That if with homage tribute be well payde,
The furie of your forces will be stayde.
And to this peace their Vice-roy hath subscribde.
Giues the K. a paper. 
And made a solemne vow, that during life,
His tribute shalbe cruely payde to Spaine.

King. These wordes, these deedes, become thy person well.
But now Rnight Marshall, frolickes with the King,
For tis thy Sonne that winnes this Battels prize.

Hiero. Long may he liue to serue my soueraigne liege,
And soone decay, vnless he serue my Liege.
A Trumpet a farre off. 

King. Nor thou nor he, shall die without reward.
What meanes this warning of this Trumpet sound?

Gen. This tels me that your graces men of Warre,
Such as Warres fortune hath reseru'd from death,
Come marching on towardes your royall seate,
To shew themselues before your Maiestie,
For so I gaue them charge at my depart:
Whereby by demonstration shall appeare,
That all (except three hundred, or few more)
Are safe returnd, and by their foes inricht.

The Armie enters, Balthazar betweene Lorenzo
and Horatio captiue.

King. A gladsome sight! I long to see them heere.
They enter and paße by. 
Was that the war-like prince of Portingale?
That by our Nephew was in triumph led?

Gen. It was my Liege, the Prince of Portingale.

King. But what was he that on the other side
Held him by th' arme as partner of the prize?

Hiero. That was my Sonne, my gracious Soueraigne;
Of whom, though from his tender infancie,
My louing thoughts did neuer hope but well:
He neuer pleasd his fathers eyes till now,
Nor fild my hart with ouer cloying ioyes.

King. Goe, let them march once more about these walles,
That staying them, we may conferre and talke
With our braue prisoner and his double Guard.
Hieoronimo, it greatly pleaseth vs,
That in our victorie thou haue a share,
Enter againe.By vertue of thy worthy Sonnes exploit.
Bring hither the young Prince of Portingale!
The rest march on: but ere they be dismist,
We will bestow on euery soldier two Duckets,
And on euery Leader ten, that they may know
Our larges welcomes them.
Exeunt all but Bal.Lor.Hor. 
Welcome, Don Balthazar, welcome Nephew,
And thou Horatio thou art welcome too:
Yong prince, althought thy fathers hard misdeedes,
In keeping backe the tribute that he owes,
Deserue but euill measure at our hands:
Yet shalt thou know that Spaine is honourable.

Balt. The trespasse that my father made in peace,
Is now contrould by fortune of the warres:
And cardes once dealt, it boots not aske why so,
His men are slaine, a weakening to his Realme,
His colours ceazd, a blot vnto his name,
His sonne distrest, a corsiue to his heart,
These punishments may cleare his late offence.

King. I Balthazar, if he obserues this truce,
Our peace will grow the stronger for these warres:
Meane while liue thou as though not in libertie,
Yet free from bearing any seruile yoake;
For in our hearing thy deserts were great,
And in our sight thy selfe art gracious.

Balt. And I shall studie to deserue this grace.

King. But tell me, for their holding makes me doubt,
To which of these twaine art thou prisoner?

Lor. To me my liege.

Hor. To me my Soueraigne.

Lor. This hand first tooke the courser by the raines.

Hor. But first my launce did put him from his horse.

Lor. I ceaz'd his weapon and enioyde it first.

Hor. But first I forst him lay his weapons downe.

Let him go.King. Let goe his arme vpon our priuiledge.
So, worthy prince, to whether didst thou yeeld?

Balt. To him in curtesie; to this perforce:
He spake me faire, this other gaue me strookes:
He promisde life, this other threatned death;
He wan my loue, this other conquered me:
And trueth to say, I yeeld my selfe to both.

Hiero. But that I know your Grace for iust and wise,
And might seeme partiall in this difference,
Inforct by nature, and by law of Armes,
My tongue should plead for young Horatios right.
He hunted well that was a Lions death,
Not he that in a garment wore his skin:
So Hares may pull dead Lyons by the beard.

King. Content thee Marshall, thou shalt haue no wrong.
And for thy sake thy sonne shall want to right.
Will both abide the censure of my doome?

Lor. I craue no better than your Grace awardes.

Hor. Nor I, although I sit beside my right.

King. Then by iudgement thus your strife shall ende,
You both deserue, and both shall haue reward.
Nephew, thou tokst his weapon and his horse
His weapons and his horse are thy reward.
Horatio, thou didst force him first to yeeld,
His ransome therefore is thy valours fee;
Appoint the summe as you shall both agree,
But Nephew, thou shalt haue the Prince in guard,
For thine estate best fitteth such a guest.
Horatios house were small for all his traine.
Yet in regard they substance passeth his,
And that iust guerdon may befall desert,
To him we yeeld the Armor of the Prince.
How likes Don Balthazar of this deuice?

Balt. Right well my liege, if this prouiso were,
That Don Horatio beare vs companie,
Whom I admire and loue for cheualrie.

King. Horatio, leaue him not that loues thee so,
Now let vs hence to see our souldiers paid,
Exeunt.And feast our prisoner as our friendly guest.

Enter Viceroy, Alexandro, Villuppo.

Vice. Is our Embassadour dispatcht for Spaine?

Alex. Two daies (my liege) are past since his depart.

Vice. And tribute payment gone along with him?

Alex. I my good Lord.

Vice. Then rest we heere a while in our vnrest.
And feed our sorrowes with some inward sighes,
For deepest cares break neuer into teares.
But wherefore sit I in a Regall throne,
This better fits a wretches endles moane.
Yet this is higher then my fortunes reach,
And therefore better then my state deserues.
Falles to the ground. 
I, I, this earth, Image of melancholy,
Seeks him whome fates adiudge to miserie:
Heere let me lie, now am I at the lowest.
Qui iacet in terra non habet vnde cadat,
In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo,
Nil superest vt iam possit obesse magis.
Yes Fortune may bereaue me of my Crowne:
Heere, take it now, let Fortune doe her worst.
She will now rob me of this sable weede:
O no, she enuies none but pleasant things,
Such is the folly of despitefull chance.
Fortune is blinde, and sees not my deserts.
So is she deafe, and heares not my laments;
And could she heare, yet is she wilfull mad,
And therefore will not pittie my distresse.
Suppose that she could pittie me, what then?
What helpe can be expected at her hands?
Whose foote standing on a rouling stone,
And minde more mutable then ficle windes.
Why waile I then wher's hope of no redresse?
O yes, complaining makes my griefe seeme lesse.
My late ambition hath distaind my faith,
My breach of faith occasion'd bloodie warres,
Those bloodie warres haue spent my treasure,
And with my treasure, my peoples blood,
And with their blood, my ioy and best beloued,
My best beloued, my sweete and onely Sonne.
O wherefore went I not to warre my selfe?
The cause was mine, I might haue died for both:
My yeeres were mellow, his but young and greene,
My death were naturall, but his was forced.

Alex. No doubt my liege but still the prince suruies.

Vice. Suruies, I where?

Alex. In Spaine a prisoner by mischance of warre.

Vice. Then they haue slaine him for his fathers fault.

Alex. That were a breach to common law of Armes.

Vice. They reake no lawes that meditate reuenge.

Alex. His ransomes woorth will stay from foule reuenge.

Vice. No if he liued, the newes would soone be heere.

Alex. Nay, euill newes will flie faster still than good.

Vice. Tell me no more of newes, for he is dead.

Villup. My Soueraigne, pardon the Authour of ill newes,
And Ile bewray the fortune of thy sonne.

Vice. Speake on, Ile guerdon thee what ere it be,
Mine eare is readie to receiue ill newes,
Mine heart grone hard gainst mischiefes batterie:
Stand vp I say and tell thy tale at large.

Villup. Then heare that truth which these mine eyes haue seene
When both the Armies were in battell ioyn'd,
Don Balthazar amidst the thickest troupes,
To winne renowne, did wondrous feats of Armes:
Amongst the rest, I saw him hand to hand
In single fight with their Lord Generall,
Till Alexandro that here counterfeites,
Vnder the colour of a duteous friend,
Discharged his Pistoll at the Princes backe,
As though he would haue slaine their Generall,
But therewithall Don Balthazar fell downe,
And when he fell, then we began to flie:
But had he liued, the day had sure beene ours.

Alex. O wicked forgerie: O traiterous miscreant.

Vice. Hold thou thy peace: But now Villuppo say,
Where then became the carkasse of my sonne?

Villup. I saw them drag it to the Spanish tents.

Vice. I, I, my nightly dreames haue told me this:
Thou false, vnkind, vnthankfull, trayterous beast,
Wherein had Balthazar offended thee,
That thou shouldst betray him to our foes?
Was't Spanish golde that bleared so thine eyes,
That thou couldst see no part of our desertes?
Perchaunce because thou art Terseraes Lord:
Thou hadst some hope to were this Diademe.
If first my Sonne and then my selfe were slaine:
But thy ambitious thought shall breake thy necke,
I, this was it that made thee spill his blood.
Take the Crowne and put it on againe. 
But Ile now weare it till they blood be spilt.

Alex. Vouchsafe (dread Soueraigne) to heare me speak.

Vice. Away with him, his sight is second hell,
Keepe him till we determine his death.
If Balthazar be dead, he shall not liue.
Villuppo follow vs for thy reward.

Villup. Thus haue I with an enuious forged tale,
Deceiued the King, betraid mine enemie,
Exit.And hope for guerdon of my villanie.

Enter Horatio and Bel-Imperia.

Bel. Signior Horatio, this is the place and houre,
Wherein I must intreat thee to relate,
The circumstance of Don Andreas death:
Who liuing was my garlands sweetest flower,
And in his death hath buried my delights.

Hor. For loue of him, and seruice to your selfe,
I will refuse this heauie dolefull charge:
Yet teares and sighes I feare will hinder me.
When both our Armies were enioynd in fight,
Your worthy Chauilier admidst the thickst,
For glorious cause still aiming at the fairest,
Was at the last by yong Don Balthazar,
Encountred hand to hand: their fight was long,
There hearts were great, their clamours menacing,
Their strength alike, their strokes both dangerous.
But wrathfull Nemesis that wicked power,
Enuying at Andreas praise and worth,
Cut short his life to end his praise and worth,
She, she her selfe disguisde in armours maske,
(As Pallas was before proud Pergamus:)
Brought in a fresh supply of Halberdiers,
Which pauncht his horse, and dingd him to the ground:
Then yong Don Balthazar with ruthles rage,
Taking aduantage of his foes distresse,
Did finish what his Halberdiers begun,
And left not till Andreas life was done.
Then though too late incenst with iust remorce,
I with my band set forth against the Prince,
And brought him prisoner from his Halberdiers.

Bel. Would thou hadst slaine him that so slew my loue.
But then was Don Andreas carkasse lost?

Hor. No, that was it for which I chiefly stroue,
Nor stept I backe till I recouered him:
I tooke him vp and wound him in mine armes.
And welding him vnto my priuate tent,
There layd him downe aud dewd him with my teares,
And sighed and sorrowed as became a friend.
But neither friendly sorrowes, sighes nor teares,
Could win pale death from his vsurped right.
Yet this I did, and lesse I could not doe:
I saw him honoured with due funeral,
This scarfe pluckt off from his liueles arme,
And weare it in remembrance of my friend.

Bel. I know the scarfe, would he had kept it still.
For had he liued he would haue kept it still,
And worne it for his Bel-imperias sake:
For twas my fauour at his last depart.
But now weare thou it both for him and me,
For after him thou hast deserued it best.
But for thy kindnes in his life and death,
Be sure while Bel-imperias life eudures,
She will be Don Horatios thankfull friend.

Hor. And (Madame) Don Horatio will not slacke,
Humbly to serue faire Bel-imperia.
But now if your good liking stand thereto,
Ile craue your pardon to go seeke the Prince,
For so the Duke your father gaue me charge.

Bel. I, go, Horatio, leaue me heere alone,
For solitude best fits my cheereles mood:
Yet what auailes to waile Andreas death,
From whence Horatio proues my second loue?
Had he not loued Andrea as he did,
He could not sit in Bel-imperias thoughtes.
But how can loue finde harbour in my brest,
Till I reuenge the death of my beloued?
Yes, second loue shall further my reuenge.
Ile loue Horatio my Andreas friend,
The more to spight the Prince that wrought his end.
And where Don Balthazar that slew my loue,
He shall in rigour of my iust disdaine,
Reape long repentance for his murderous deed,
For what wast els but murderous cowardise,
So many to oppresse one valiant Knight,
Without respect of honour in the fight?
And heere he comes that murdered my delight.

Enter Lorenzo and Balthazar.

Lor. Sister, what meanes this melancholy walke?

Bel. That for a while I wish no companie.

Lor. But heere the Prince is come to visite you.

Bel. That argues that he liues in libertie.

Bal. No, Madame, but in pleasing seruitude.

Bel. Your prison then belike is your conceite.

Bal. I, by conceite my freedome is enthralde.

Bel. Then with conceite enlarge your selfe againe.

Bal. What if conceite haue laid my hart to gage?

Bel. Pay that you borrowed and recouer it.

Bal. I die if it returne from whence it lies.

Bel. A heartles man and liues? A miracle.

Bal. I, Lady, loue can worke such miracles.

Lor. Tush, tush, my Lord, let goe these ambages,
And in plaine tearmes acquaint her with your loue.

Bel. What boots complaint, when theres no remedie,

Bal. Yes to your gracious selfe must I complaine,
In whose faire answere lies my remedie,
On whose perfection all my thoughts attend,
On whose aspect mine eyes finde beauties bowre,
In whose translucent breastes my heart is lodgde.

Bel. Alas, my Lord! these are but wordes of course,
And but deuisde to driue me from this place.

She going in lets fall her gloue, which Horatio
comming out, takes vp.

Hor. Madame, your Gloue.

Bel. Thankes good Horatio, take it for thy paines.

Bal. Signior Horatio stoopt in happy time.

Hor. I reapt more grace then I deseru'd or hop'd.

Lor. My Lord, be not dismayde for what is past,
You know that women oft are humerous:
These cloudes will ouerblow with litle winde,
Let me alone, Ile scatter them my selfe:
Meane while let vs deuise to spend the time,
In some delightfull sports and reuelling.

Hor. The King, my Lord, is comming hither straight,
To feast the Portugall Embassadour,
Things were in readines before I came.

Bal. Then heere it fits vs to attend the King,
To welcome hither our Embassadour,
And learne my Father and my Countries health.

Enter the banquet, Trumpets, the King, and Embassadour.

King. See, Lord Embassadour, how Spaine entreates
Their prisoner, Balthazar, thy Viceroyes sonne:
We pleasure more in kindnes then in warres.

Embass. Sad is our King, and Portugal laments,
Supposing that Don Balthazar is slaine.

Bal. So am I slaine by beauties tyrannie:
You see, my Lord, how Balthazar is slaine.
I frolike with the Duke of Castiles sonne,
Wrapt euery houre in pleasures of the Court,
And grac'd with fauours of his Maiestie.

King. Put off your greetings till our feast be done,
Now come and sit with vs, and taste our cheere.
Sit to the banquet. 
Sit downe young Prince, you are our second guest,
Brother sit downe, and Nephew take your place,
Signior Horatio waite thou vpon our Cup,
For well thou hast deserued to be honoured.
Now, Lordings, fall too, Spaine is Portugall,
And Portugall is Spaine, we both are friends,
Tribute is paide, and we enioy our right.
But where is old Hieronimo, our Marshall?
He promised vs in honour of our guest,
To grace our banquet with some pompous iest.
Enter Hieronimo With a Drum, three Knights, each his
Scutchin: then he fetches three Kinges, They take
their Crownes and them captive.

Hieronimo, this Maske contentes mine eye,
Although I sound well not the mysterie.

Hiero. The first armd Knight, that hung his Scutchin up
He takes the Scutchin and giues it to the King. 
Was English Robert, Earle of Gloster,
Who when King Stephen bore sway in Albion,
Arriued with fiue and twentie thousand men
In Portingale, and by successe of warre,
Enforced the King (then but a Sarasin)
To beare the yoake of the English Monarchie.

King. My lord of Portingale, by this you see,
That which may comfort both your King and you,
And make your late discomfort seeme the lesse:
But say Hieronimo, what was the next?

Hiero. The second Knight that hung his Scutchin vp,
He doth as he did before. 
Was Edmond Earle of Kent in Albion,
When English Richard wore the Diadem:
He came likewise and razed Lisbon walles,
And tooke the King of Portingale in fight:
For which, and other such seruice done,
He after was created Duke of Yorke.

King. This is another speciall argument,
That Portingale may daine to beare our yoake,
When it by little Englang hath been yoakt:
But now Hieronimo, what were the last?

Hiero. The third and last, not least in our account,
Doing as before. 
Was (as the rest) a valiant English-man,
Braue Iohn of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster,
As by his Scutchin plainely may appeare:
He with a puissant armie came to Spaine,
And tooke our King of Castile prisoner.

Embass. This is an argument for our Viceroy,
That Spaine may not insult for her successe,
Since English warriours likewise conquered Spaine,
And made them bow their knees to Albion.

King. Hieronimo, I drinke to thee for this deuice,
Which hath pleasde both the Embassadour and me:
Pledge me, Hieronimo, if thou loue the King!
Takes the cup of Horatio. 
My Lord, I feare we sit but ouer long,
Vnlesse our dainties were more delicate:
But welcome are to you the best we haue.
Now let vs in, that you may be dispatcht,
Exeunt omnes.I thinke our Counsell is alreadie set.
Andrea.
Come we for this from depth of vnder ground,
To see him feast, that gaue me my deathes wound?
These pleasant sightes are sorrow to my soule,
Nothing but league, and loue, and banqueting?
Reuenge.
Be still Andrea, ere we go from hence,
Ile turne their friendship into fell despight:
Their loue to mortall hate, their day to night,
Their hope into dispaire, their peace in warre,
Their ioyes to paine, their blisse to miserie.

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